


Count

by Yamnus



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Canon, ot2, ot5 era, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 15:06:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9908036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yamnus/pseuds/Yamnus
Summary: Changmin takes a deep breath and counts again. Maybe somewhere, there is another hour, just one.[Yunho and Changmin: before and after]





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ.  
> Edited and revised.

The single bulb illuminating the entryway flickers briefly, lightly shaken by the rough slamming of the door. Changmin sighs, allowing his thin shoulders to slouch forward. A deep breath fills his lungs with warm air, the heat slowly lulling his eyes to slip shut for just a moment. His whole body is heavy, anchored down in the narrow hallway littered with neatly arranged shoes, pair by pair placed next to one another. His all too thin frame rests upon the wood behind him, an almost rusted doorknob jutting into his side. Vaguely, Changmin grunts in discontent.

Suddenly he feels his own pair of newly shined dress shoes being unlaced and with a great effort glances downward. “Hyung,” he rasps out, trying to kick the man away. Changmin struggles to keep his eyelids from betraying him. “I can do it,” the boy calls again, slurring the last few words into a distorted mumbling. He attempts to push those steady shoulders that slope gently over his feet, but his weighted limbs refuse to cooperate, instead allowing his body to topple sideways into a pair of careful, calloused palms. The light bulb flickers in his vision once more, and he is only aware of sitting upon the tiled floor when his head is maneuvered to lean upon the door.  

His eyes trace the blurry movements in front of him as his left shoe is carefully placed to one side upon an empty shelf spot. And in this moment, Changmin counts. Steadily, his voice drawls out a whispered series of numbers, “Three. Five. Three. That makes a total of eleven, Yunho-hyung.” Still, Yunho simply positions the right shoe next to its match upon the shelf, never once faltering in his actions. Changmin wonders if he ever does but shuts the thought away when two dark brown eyes lift themselves to scan his face. 

“If you hurry, you can get four,” Yunho says, corners of his eyes wrinkling as a weary smile beams in the still of the early morning, far brighter than the single light bulb looming over the two of them. Changmin nods, unable to raise a protest. He never counts for himself. He counts for Yunho. He wonders when he started counting the hours, when he began to lose so many that he keeps a tally of how many his hyung has every night. Changmin hates it. He hates counting every night, every day. But he is tired and only wants more hours in the day. But he hates it: always keeping a record of hours Yunho sleeps. Changmin hates it more and more as he watches Yunho struggle to stand upright, a mature restraint for the obvious fatigue tugging on his handsome features. Changmin takes a deep breath and counts again. Maybe somewhere, there is another hour, just one.

He still counts even as his shirt is being clumsily unbuttoned by Jaejoong. The older of the two pauses for a moment, seemingly biting back the pain that clouds his head with a slight look of distaste. His porcelain face contorts, marred with deep purple shadows under dulled eyes. Steam from the shower drenches the stale bathroom air, a single bead of moisture streaming down the foggy mirror. And in this thin trail, Changmin observes the reflection of a boy resting upon the wicker laundry basket, a set of ribs almost showing from under the pale skin. He is perplexed and quickly diverts his eyes downward. It isn’t until Jaejoong slides the remaining sleeve off his skin that he processes the pitiful image to be his own.

Tenderly, a hand guides a damp cloth across his face. The lukewarm temperature is soothing and leaves in its wake a trail of makeup free skin, perfection free skin. In between featherlike strokes, Changmin feels the familiar flow of oxygen into his lungs. And there is comfort in the way a light smile, bleeding its way like watery ink upon a fresh canvas, brushes Jaejoong’s lips. The boy hopes his feeble attempt to mimic the image fading in his eyes radiates just as much ease.

Almost dizzily, he processes the fact that Junsu and Yoochun had rushed through their showers quickly enough to leave a deal of hot water for him. It burns through his sweat matted hair, down the contours of his sore body. Through the thin bathroom walls, Junsu’s fluttering laughter and Yoochun’s light chuckle resounds, a high melodious tune and its husky complement.  Through the noise, Changmin identifies Yunho’s quiet murmurs beyond the shower curtain as they lightly echo, the sounds of his soothing assurances to Jaejoong amplified. And Changmin feels awake at last.

 

. . . . .

 

He heard them argue. And he counts. They have all lost two hours he concludes grimly. Yet, even as the minutes slowly slip past his bloodshot eyes, he cannot bring himself to sleep. He simply holds onto the desperate shouts that somehow erased the soft tone of Jaejoong’s voice and the tenor of Yunho’s whispers that Changmin swears he recalls through his half-conscious haze.

He had felt the air around him thicken, the gravity of the situation unfamiliar to him. The quiet is frustratingly stifling, And Changmin who is nothing if not logical, reasons that he has every right to feel scared right now. Still, he cannot bring himself to contemplate what this fear means. It is nothing. It means nothing. Nothing is wrong.

A muted creek reaches his ears, minute over the summer lullaby of cricket chirps and rustling tree leaves that intrudes past a barely opened window. His door remains closed, but he can almost trace the despondent features upon the man standing in the dark hallway, alone. Changmin traces a familiar pattern in the night sky beyond his window frame until his eyes seal themselves, a single image still visible in the pitch blackness. 

Changmin inhales deeply taking in the smell of the night air with a hint of cologne. Knowingly, he wills himself to feign sleep, stiffening only when the mattress dips slightly. “Changmin-ah,” Yunho rasps out, shifting closer to the boy’s perfect calmness, “I’m scared.” A set of trembling fingers brushes his cheek lovingly, overflowing with a bitter certainty, trepidation hindering the comforting touch. Changmin can no longer deny what he already knows. The star-stiched letter reflects brightly in his eyes.

 

. . . . .

 

The bulb flickers, the darkness in between the periods of light seeming longer than Changmin recalls. Abruptly, a set of wiry fingers tangle themselves into the material of his shirt. A pair of wrists twists slowly, almost as if winding a doll – begging it to walk. Shallow breaths pass between the two.

Changmin, ever observant, takes a tentative step forward. “Hyung,” the boy calls cautiously, the remnants of a shattered man staring hollowly back. Steady arms shelter Yunho who collapses into the embrace. A feverish forehead leans to rest upon the taller boy’s shoulder. Desperately the tug upon his body strengthens, pleading with him not to leave. A broken voice whispers Changmin’s name repeatedly, half-muted by a swollen throat. But no tears fall, Changmin wonders if they ever will. Despite his frailty, Yunho has never once faltered, never once permitted himself to, as vast as the stage had been, as divided as the scarlet ocean had been, as painful as the harmony of duet is. Changmin desperately clings to the man in his arms, seeking the strength to protect what his hyungs had for so long: 東方神起. 

Emptiness remains in the entryway. He stops counting.  The light fades to an orange before it burns out. But in the darkness of the doorway, he sees the constellation, brighter now more than ever. And it shines on them, waiting. Changmin smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> It is said that during the comeback promotions for Keep Your Head Down, Yunho was ill with a fever and sore throat. 
> 
> Yunho made a promise to his grandfather, pre-debut, that he would not cry until he had reached the top.  
> \- Originally written: 3/13/2012  
> \- Yunho cried: 4/15/2012
> 
> Casseopia is a constellation composed of 5 stars (W in shape)
> 
>  
> 
> It doesn't matter what happened,  
> as five individuals, they each deserve to be happy  
> whether they are one or not
> 
> we can only hope that they are and will be happy  
> and watch them shine from a distance
> 
> Thank You, for allowing us to love you even now. 
> 
> Always Keep the Faith


End file.
